Ohio History Journal

The Black Hand.                  453

 

tablet, that was as a guide to their faith, and then put the hand

on the rock, pointing to the place of his burial.

 

THE MINGO CAPTIVE AND THE WYANDOT MAIDEN AND

THE NEUTRAL GROUND.

 

H. C. COCHRAN.

An Indian sat at the door of a settler's cabin and told this

story: Many years ago the red men in the eastern part of the

state were at war with those in the middle and northwestern part.

Chief among the former were the Mingos, and among the latter,

the Wyandots. In one of the stealthy and bloody incursions

into the Mingo hunting grounds, a young chief of great promise

was captured and carried back by the Wyandots. Instead of kill-

ing the young Mingo chieftain, as was the usual custom, he was

made a serf and compelled to earn the good-esteem and fellow-

ship of his captors, a fate worse than death to the young Indian.

The woes of his captivity, however, were lightened by the kindly

attention of a young Wyandot maiden, the daughter of the chief

of the tribe into which the Mingo had been adopted. Genuine af-

fection knows no condition, or it rises above all environment. The

maiden fell in love with the unfortnate young chief, and though

watched by the crafty tribesmen, they made their affection known

to each other and decided to fly to the Mingo country. One

night they made their escape. At daylight they were missed

and were pursued by a posse of Wyandots. The girl had left

behind a tribesman lover, who burning with the passion of a

disappointed lover, and aching for vengeance traveled faster

than the couple and overtook them at Black Hand rock. They

heard the pursuers behind them, knowing that worse than death

awaited them if captured. With the stoicism of the savage, they

walked to the edge of the precipice and surveyed the flood. Fold-

ing the idol of his heart in his arms, he sprang into the boiling

waters. The pursuers were close enough to see the last chapter

of the drama. The narrator says the disappointed pursuers

marked the spot as the Caucasian found it.

The other legend, one worthy of perpetuity, is born of the

geology of the country and the trade conditions of the aboriginees.

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454       Ohio Arch. and Hist. Society Publications.   About five miles southwest of Black Hand is a great outcrop- ping of chalcedony. The place is known now as "Flint Ridge" and the flint, rare on this continent, was much valued by the In- dians and Mound Builders for making implements of agriculture and war. Like the pipe stone quarries of the Dakotas, where the inimical Sioux and Mandan work side by side in apparent peace, hither the tribes came up, the place being considered sacred to the giver of all good and perfect gifts.  For a radius of

five miles around "Flint Ridge," rested the blessing of the Great Spirit, or that of the orb of day, the divinity worshipped by the Mound Builders. None of the tumult of war was found within that space. Parties in quest of flint, coming to the confines of the charmed circle, laid down their arms for the purpose of mining the necessary stone, for the time forgetting the tradi- tionary hatred of foes. They came from the Mississippi valley, probably by water and debarked from their frail craft at the foot of the rock. The romancer says the spread hand carved on

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The Black Hand.                  455

 

the rock was in mute appeal and forcibly reminded the wayfarer in

a way at once forcible, as it was poetical, that thus far and no

farther should the waves of unglutted vengeance roll. The hand

marked the portal of a sanctuary which was sacred to the

savage, whose lust for blood rose above every other considera-

tion in his narrow but intense, isolated but eventful life.

 

THE CHIEFTAIN WACOUSTA, THE YOUNG LAHKOPIS, AND

THE MAIDEN AHYOMAH.

 

MRS. DAVID GEBHART.

"An unremembered Past

Broods like a presence, midst

These cliffs and hills."

Many moons ago, long before the pale face came across

the Great Water to this land, here upon the bank of the Pataskala,

was the lodge of the great chief Powkongah, whose daughter

Ahyomah was fair as the dawn and graceful as the swan that

floats on the lake. Her eyes were soft and shy as the eyes of a

young deer, her voice sweet and low as the note of the cooing

dove. Two braves were there who looked upon her with eyes of

love, and each was fain to lead her from the lodge of her father,

that she might bring light and joy and contentment to his own.

At last said the chief, her father, "No longer shall ye contend for

the hand of Ahyomah, my daughter. Go ye now forth upon the

war path, and when three moons have passed see that ye come

hither once more, and then I swear by the Great Spirit that to

him who shall carry at his belt the greatest number of scalps

shall be given the hand of Ahyomah, my daughter."   Three

months had waxed greater and grown less ere the warriors re-

turned. Then, upon the day appointed, behold, all the tribe gath-

ered to view the counting of the scalps. First stepped forth Wa-

cousta, a grim visaged warrior, who had long parted company

with fleet-footed youth, and walked soberly with middle man-

hood. From his belt he took his trophies, one by one, and laid

them at the feet of the chief, while from behind the lodge door

Ahyomah, unseen by all, looked fearfully forth upon the scene.

With each fresh scalp the clouds settled more and more darkly

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